


Memories and Moving On

by StillWaters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillWaters/pseuds/StillWaters
Summary: On a sad anniversary, two old friends have a long overdue conversation





	

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, Harry Potter fans. I am Still Waters. This is my first foray into writing this fandom, though I have been writing off and on for years, most recently with a focus on the Avengers. 
> 
> I have a Muse that I have a love/hate relationship with. Mostly love. I appreciate all the wonderful ideas she feeds me, but sometimes, it's almost too much. When she decides I need to write something, I have no choice in the matter. I currently have chapters in the works on all 4 of my ongoing Avenger stories as well as rough outlines of the next chapter of what was supposed to be a one-shot and another new storyline. Then, there's my How I Met Your Mother story. It needs an update, too.
> 
> And I'm not a speedy updater. I write, rewrite, edit, re-edit, let it sit a bit, and go over it again. I want what I post to be something I would want to read. 
> 
> My point? My youngest just finished reading the Harry Potter books, which meant I am rereading them and we had a couple of marathon movie watching weekends. 
> 
> And my Muse wanted a Dumbledore/McGonagall story. And keeps bringing it to mind when I'm trying to work on anything else. So...here it is. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This is set probably about 5 or 6 years before the start of the first novel.

Minerva McGonagall glanced at the fire, then at the clock.

She sighed heavily.

As much as her mind and body were anxious to do...something...go for a walk maybe...she knew Keirsten would be calling soon and expect her to be there.

Not that she didn't want to talk to her daughter.

They both had busy lives and didn't have as much contact as either would like, so both usually looked forward to their conversations.

Her melancholy tonight was not the caller, but the reason for call.

Her gaze dropped to the photo album spread across her lap. A man with dark brown hair, just starting to show a few threads of silver and sparkling gray eyes smiled up at her. Deep dimples on each cheek still made her heart flutter.

Fifteen years ago today, she had watched the love of her life perish at the hands of Voldemort. A powerful wizard, Jonathan had been one of the first to fall in the dark lords climb to power at a time when few were willing to acknowledge what was happening.

Over the next few years, what had been considered the paranoia of a minority soon proved to be more and more real.

In the photo, a young girl with matching eyes leaned over his shoulder and they both waved at her.

A sputtering noise drew her attention back to the fire and she smiled, putting aside the image of the girl to concentrate on her adult image in the low flames.

"Hallo, Mum,"

Minerva smiled and set the album aside. "Hullo, Dear. How are you?"

"I'm good. How's everything at dear old Hogwarts?"

"As old and dear as ever," her mother replied. "We're pretty much at that point in the year where the first years are settled in."

"Even your Muggle borns?"

"Even our Muggle borns."

These were the students who usually had the most trouble adjusting to their new lives as many of them had no idea of the existence of the wizarding world until the arrival of their letters. Most were overwhelmed at first and, every few years, there was a student who simply refused to accept the reality of magic and had to be returned to their old lives.

Of course, there were also those who were relieved by the news, finally having an explanation for the oddities that had been a part of their lives.

"Speaking of Muggle borns," the old witch probed.

"She's doing very well, too. She's had a few incidents, but her parents are really good about bringing her in and we talk things over. She's incredibly bright and likes to do her own research."

"You think she'll accept the truth?"

Keirsten nodded. "I think so. She's very practical, but I think she'll consider it a moment, decide it's the most logical answer, start trying to learn everything she can about the subject." She grinned and cocked her head. "Should I be upset that you ask about her before you ask about your own grandchildren?"

"Nonsense," her mother replied. "Business first, then pleasure. How are the rugrats?"

They spent the next several minutes catching Minerva up on the escapades of the children. Both wiped away tears of laughter.

The younger woman sighed. "How are you doing, Mom?"

"I'm fine, dear. Really," she answered forcefully. "I've managed to stay busy today with classes and tutoring and house duties, so I haven't had much time to brood."

Keirsten smiled sadly. "Me, too. Work. Running the kids around. Fixing dinner. Getting everyone into bed. "

"And now that the day is done and it's quiet..."

"I really miss him, Mama," she whispered tearfully.

"I know, sweetheart. Me, too," the witch replied in kind. "So much." She smiled slightly, her mind drifting to the past. "We had so many plans. Traveling. Writing. Growing old together." Sighing again, the shook her head. "Instead, he never got to grow old and I'm doing so all alone."

After several moments of silence, the face in the fire cleared her throat and smiled. "You know, you don't have to, mom."

"Oh, I know I'm not really alone. I have my wonderful family, my friends, my students," Minerva agreed.

"What about a social life?"

"There's the Halloween feast, Yule Ball, End of Term Balls. Hogsmead weekends. Quidditch matches. Quite enough activity for a woman my age."

"That's not a social life, Mom. That's work. I know you love all that, but what about spending time with adults doing adult things? Dating again, maybe?"

There was a tap at her door and she looked at the time.

Dumbledore, most likely. This was about the time he sometimes dropped by for a late snack or a chess match or just a talk.

"Nonsense," she told her daughter, picking up her wand to per allow him access. "I'm far too busy and haven't the time to waste on such things."

She waved her guest in, then turned back to the conversation. Holding up her hand to forestall any argument, she continued. "This is not something we're going to discuss."

Her gaze traveled back to Albus. "You can help yourself to something to drink, if you'd like."

He started towards her kitchenette, stopping when he noticed where her attention was directed. "So sorry, my dear. Didn't realize I was interrupting something. I'll see you tomorrow."

As he turned to go, the other woman called out.

"Is that Uncle Albus?"

"Indeed," he replied, crossing the room to stand behind Minerva. He leaned over her shoulder, smiling and waving at the young woman. "Lovely to see you again, dear girl," he told her. "You and your family are well?"

"We are," she confirmed. "And yourself?"

"Good."

She paused a moment, then grinned. "Maybe we should ask Albus' opinion, Mom."

"About what?" he asked.

"Nothing at all," Minerva interrupted. "It's been lovely talking to you, but I know we both have busy days tomorrow so we should wrap this up and head off to bed."

They said their goodbyes as the wizard stepped away to give them a bit of privacy. He picked up the album that had been set aside earlier, smiling gently at the image of one of his favorite former students.

"Night, Albus," Keirsten called.

"Good night, dear. Sleep well. Don't let the boggarts bite."

She laughed as she ended the call.

He watched his best friend, silhouetted by the fire that continued to hold her attention for several minutes. Finally, she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry to have interrupted your call," he apologized again. "I just wanted to stop by and..."

"Check up on me?" she finished, nodding towards the album in his lap.

"Check up on you," he agreed. "I know that you're strong, but even the strongest of us sometimes have difficulty dealing with certain reminders. I know I do. I hate that it happened and that you had to see it. I hate that that is your final memory of him."

"I simply remind myself to focus on the many wonderful ones we had before that," she told him.

"Yes, you certainly had plenty," he agreed.

As the silence stretched out, he continued to study her. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Would you rather be alone? I'll leave if you like."

She looked to him, starting a bit, as though she had forgotten he was in the room. "No, I'm glad you came," she told him offering him a smile. "I feel like pommelling someone at chess tonight."

"We'll just see about that," he replied, moving to pull the game from it's storage cabinet.

"I'll fix the tea and hot chocolate," she told him, rising from her seat by the fire.

When he had the board set up, he noticed her pacing restlessly around the room.

"How about a walk instead?" he inquired. "The staff garden is quite relaxing by moonlight."

After a pause, she nodded. "That sounds perfect."

With a wave, she summoned her cloak. Albus stepped close to drape it around her shoulders and fasten the catch, then offered his arm to escort her outdoors.

They strolled that way for quite some time, the beauty of the garden and the comfortable silence helping to calm her. She squeezed her escorts arm.

"This is just what I needed. Thank you for the suggestion," she told him.

He smiled and returned the squeeze. "Me, too."

Reaching a stone bench, they silently settled down, looking up at the field of stars overhead.

"What was it Keirsten was wanting my opinion about?" he probed.

"Nothing important," she told him. "Pure nonsense."

"Ah. Nonsense is one of my specialties," he said. When she didn't continue speaking, he did. "Maybe I'll give her a call. We haven't had a good talk in quite some time."

Minerva wouldn't put it past him. He had known the girl her whole life and she had had him wrapped around her little finger from the very beginning. A feeling that was returned.

"She thinks I should be dating again," she told him.

"Dating?"

She nodded.

Albus considered the idea for a moment and decided that he most certainly didn't like it.

"You're right. Silly idea," he agreed. "If you're not ready, she shouldn't be pushing it."

"It's not so much that I'm not ready," she clarified. "I'll always love Jonathan and always miss him, but he's been gone for 15 years now. I know he would want me to be happy."

"Of course he would. And you are, aren't you?"

Her answering hum was more noncommital than he liked.

"There are things I miss about being in a relationship," she admitted.

"Of course," he murmured, stroking her hand gently. At length, he spoke again. "So if you are interested in dating again, what's holding you back?"

She snorted. "Clearly, I can't choose from the long line of suitors flocking to my door," she commented sarcastically. At his confused look, she continued. "There aren't a whole lot of gentlemen interested in a woman of my age, Albus." 

"You're not that old," he protested.

"I am. And I am well aware that I've never been what one would consider beautiful. Even as a girl, I was too tall and thin. Too serious to be attractive. Truth be told, I often wondered what led Jonathan to seek out my attentions."

"Because he was a very intelligent young man," Albus told her firmly. He waited for her to turn to look at him. "You always had your own beauty, even if you never recognized it. Different from the common standard, but still quite lovely. No, you weren't in the same looks department as Darlee Pennington. Or Jaira Levare. Or Helena Montgomery," he said, naming off some of the popular girls from her school days.

"Is there point to this?" she asked dryly.

"But that sort of 'beauty' doesn't last. It dims and fades as time passes. Or they become so obsessed with trying to hold on to it with charms and potions that there is little else in their heads. They're known for being pretty and have no sense of self when that's gone."

Minerva nodded.

"Jonathan was wise enough to know that. He was far more attracted to a young woman with the intelligence to discuss any topic under the sun and curiosity to always be eager to learn more. He appreciated your quick wit and dry sense of humor. The sparkle in your eye when you were anticipating a new challenge. The charming flush of color in your cheeks then your were excited."

"He actually told you all that?" she asked.

"Some of it," he told her. "A man in love usually enjoys talking about the object of his affections, so I learned quite a bit about you during the time he was assisting me."

She blushed slightly and turned her face into the darkness. "He also couldn't understand why you didn't realize how beautiful you were."

"Perhaps because I had always been told how plain I was," she admitted. "Some of my earliest memories were of my grandmother telling me that it was good I was smart because I was unlikely to ever attract attention based on my looks. Then, when I started school, there were more comments."

"Of what sort?" he asked.

She looked at him with a sigh. "Like not being able to tell the difference between me and my broom, for one."

"You must have had a lovely broom," he told her.

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes at him and laughed. "It's all right. As I told Keirsten, I'm quite content with my life as it is. I've had a love like many never experience and that will suffice."

"But you won't close yourself off from the possibility of it happening again?" he asked.

"No, I won't. I know it's unlikely, but I'd welcome it if it happened and simply cherish my memories if it doesn't." She turned to face him. "Enough about my love life, Albus. What about yours? It's been a long time since I've seen you in the company of a lady."

"Actually, I've been giving that some thought, recently," he told her.

Her eyebrow rose.

"Really?"

"Really." He took a deep breath and leaned in close, pressing his lips softly to hers. He felt her stiffen and pulled back after only the briefest of touches He studied her carefully, her eyes wide in surprise. She lifted her hand, her fingers lightly resting on her tingling lips.

"What was that?" she finally squeaked out.

He frowned. "Apparently, I didn't do it right. I suppose I'm a bit out of practice and probably out of touch, but in my day, I believe they called it a kiss."

"Why?"

"Why do they call it that? I'm not really sure, though I suppose I could do some research on the etymology of the word."

She gave his an irritated look.

"Why did you kiss me?"

The old wizard's eyes sparkled. "Again, it's been a while, but as I recall, a kiss is a sign or affection. Friendship. Particularly when placed on the forehead or cheek."

"And on the lips?"

He lifted her hand, brushing another light kiss across her knuckles. "The hand or the lips are more indicative of an interest of a romantic nature," he replied.

"You're saying that you're interested in me...romantically?" she asked.

"Would that be such a terrible thing?" he asked.

"Terrible? No, not terrible. Surprising." She gave him a studied look. "Since you've never given any indication of this alleged attraction until now when I'm sitting her feeling sorry for myself."

""Why do you have so much trouble believing I could have romantic feelings for you, Minerva?"

"Because...because you can't. You don't," she spluttered.

"But I do."

"Since when? Why have you never said anything before?"

"A long time," he answered. "But it's never felt right to say it. First, you were my student and any feelings of that sort would have been highly inappropriate. By the time you graduated, you and Jonathan were together." He smiled broadly. "Two of my favorite people together. I couldn't imagine a better match."

"Thank you.."

"Then, when he died, you had so much going on. Your own grief. Your children. Your job. Not to mention trying to open eyes to the truth about Voldemort. You needed a friend, then, not some old man professing his feelings for you. Then, the build up to the war. The war itself. The aftermath and clean up. The timing just never seemed right," he said.

She leveled a gaze at him. "The war's been over for 5 years now, Albus. That's plenty of time."

He looked down to their intertwined hands.

"And I was afraid," he confessed softly.

"Afraid?"

"That you wouldn't return my affection. Wouldn't have feelings of that sort for a man old enough to be your grandfather. That it would change everything and that I would lose even your friendship."

He continued looking down, not daring to meet her gaze.

"You're right, Albus. It would have changed things."

Turning towards him, she reached over to lay her palm against his cheek, guiding him to look at her. When their eyes finally met, she leaned forward, returning his gentle kiss..

This one lasted a bit longer before he pulled away to look at her.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I'm told by a very wise man that it's called a kiss and is indicative of affection, particularly that of a romantic nature," she told him with a small smile. "Apparently, I didn't quite do it correctly."

"So, you're saying that you return my romantic interest?"

"I do."

"And yet, while you're upset that I've never given indication of mine, you admit that you have not made such interest apparent either," he accused.

"No, I have not," she told him, chin lifting defiantly. "And with good reason."

"And what might that be?"

"I couldn't imagine that you could possibly feel that way about me. You've known me since I came to Hogwarts as a pig-tailed prepubescent. You were my teacher and my mentor as well as that of the man I fell in love with and planned my future with. You were a friend and a trusted advisor when it came to planning our future education and careers. You were 'Uncle Albus' to our children. When Jonathan was killed, you were our rock. You were there for me when I completely fell apart. You helped me pick up the pieces and put myself back together."

"I was honored that you trusted me enough to let me do so," he told her.

"When other people told me that I was wrong about Voldemort's role in his murder, you were our first and strongest ally."

"And we were right."

"Painfully so," she agreed.

Silence fell again as both thought of the many lives lost or destroyed by the evil that had grown, in spite of their efforts against it. An evil both felt would inevitably rise once more.

"It was during those years that I first began to realize that I might want more from you than the friendship we shared. The time we spent together...planning...fighting...grieving...only made those feelings grow stronger."

"And still you said nothing?"

"I couldn't. Especially after you told Keirsten that you still saw me as a girl, zooming across the quidditch pitch, pigtails flopping, as I dived after the snitch."

He frowned. "I don't recall that."

"I believe it was when I wouldn't let her do something and she was complaining that I didn't understand because I had never been young and never had any fun."

"Ah, yes. I do remember a few conversations of that nature during her teen years."

"You do realize you're probably responsible for the two of us surviving those years," she told him.

"I enjoyed feeling needed. Being a part of your family." He chuckled. "And I assure you, I haven't thought of you as a little girl in a very long time."

"The 'very' wasn't really necessary, was it?" she asked.

"I'm simply trying to say that you've become a very attractive woman and made me think about things that would have been highly inappropriate to think about that girl." He thought for a few more moments, then shook his head. "No. I can't accept that for the past 5 years, you haven't said anything because of what you thought I thought. We've worked together quite closely and I think I have treated you with the respect of an equal. There's another reason."

Minerva sighed, looking down at her lap.

"Fine. Maybe I was frightened, too." She turned to look at him again. "We have worked together quite well and you've certainly treated me with respect. I find myself valuing our friendship more and more with the passage of time and my fear of losing that has also been a consideration."

Albus took her hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "So, we have a decision to make. Do we take a chance on what could be or do we forget this conversation ever happened and go on as we have been?"

She placed her other hand on top of his. "I don't think that's really an option anymore, Albus."

"Can't put the cat back in the bag?" he commented, eyes twinkling.

"I would not recommend trying," she answered, brow arched.

He kissed her hand again, then caught and held her gaze.

"Ms McGonagall. Would you kindly allow me to court you?"

"I would be pleased to accept your offer, Mr Dumbledore."

"Now. As I believe I mentioned, I am quite out of practice in the fine art of kissing."

"Sadly, I must admit I am as well."

"Identifying a shortcoming is the first step to overcoming it," he said.

"Indeed. Then, we must devise a plan to improve."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, I've always been a strong proponent of practice," she told him, leaning forward to press her lips gently to his.

"Yes, you have. I've heard you often advise your students of the value of it," he answered, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek as he returned the kiss.

"It may require a great deal of practice," she warned, grasping his beard to pull him close again.

He smiled against her lips. "If you're willing to make the sacrifice, I will as well."

"If we must."

"I believe we must."

**Author's Note:**

> And that is that. Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope you felt the time well spent. I would love to know what you thought. I absolutely thrive on reviews. 
> 
> Now, perhaps I can focus on one of my other tales for a bit...though there could be more of this if anyone is interested (hint, hint) and if I can decide where to go with it. I've got thoughts on developing this relationship, but I also have ideas about going back in time to her school days and the relationship with Jonathan.
> 
> Anyway. Again, I would love your feedback.


End file.
